


sk8er boi rockin up Tokyo

by GilgaNyan (NarryEm)



Category: Fate/Prototype, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 12:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14449431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/GilgaNyan
Summary: a series of drabbles of proto Cú being his sexy, punk self in my reimagined version of Fate/Prototype where our Lancer has taken a liking to punk clothes of 80s-90s.collab withchoconate





	1. pro(to)logue

**Author's Note:**

> title adapted from "sk8er boi" by Avril Lavigne"
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> ~~this is just something lighthearted to balance out all the angst that I will be pouring into future KotoGil fics~~

‘Tis a view that I have never seen in my life.  Everywhere I look, I see forests of stone buildings, each rising higher and higher than the one next to it.  The moon cannot be seen with the stone buildings—flat complexes, a whisper supplies in my head—despite it being a clear night.

‘I ask you,’ I utter, turning towards my Master for this war, whose mana beckons me like a tidal wave.  ‘Are ye my Master?’

‘Indeed, I am,’ the woman mage answers, a smug and cruel smile curling up her lips.  Something about her reminds me of a certain queen I once knew.  ‘Cú Chulainn, the greatest hero of the Ulster Cycle. I wanted to summon a Hero who was killed by a woman. That way he would know how scary a woman can be.  To be honest you are taller than I expected you to be.’

I shrug, suppressing the urge to smile.  ‘Myths have many variations.  I will have ye know that I was of average height in my clan.’

The woman throws a sack in my direction.  I catch it mid-air and open it to find a set of modern clothes.  The clothes are mostly black, the only non-black item being a pale green undershirt.  

‘You’ll stand out if you walk ‘round looking like that,’ she points out.  ‘I don’t care what you do with your free time as long as you wag your tall and hunt the prey I tell you to kill.  Oh, and I’m sealing away your Noble Phantasm for the time being.  I do not wish to risk the others finding out about your True Name.’

I nod.  The clothes are light in weight, soft in texture like well-tanned hide of a boar.

‘Are these meant to come half-destroyed?’ I inquire, holding up a pair of black jeans splattered with various pigments.

‘It was a gross fad in the 80s.  Punks still think it’s cool to walk around wearing shredded jeans and griping about the wars and their woes.’

She also throws me a wallet.   ‘Go buy yourself more clothes if you want.  I literally could not care less.’

‘Thank you, Master.  I shall go scout out the city, then.’

 

 

There is so much to learn about this era.  For starters, humans of this age have gotten too lazy to walk on their own feet, it seems.  I see cabs zipping down the streets everywhere, carrying people both sober and inebriated.  There is hardly any vegetation to be found at the heart of the city.

I have also noted how the people on the streets have been looking at me.  They do not look at me with the eyes of defensive countrymen glaring at a foreigner; rather, there is a sense of awe and disdain in their eyes.  Perhaps, as human and alive as they are, they can feel that I am not human like them.

Or there is the possibility that it is the garments on my body that is drawing their attention, not myself per se.

Either way, I will not be able to complete my scouting with watchful eyes entrained on me.  I duck into a dark alleyway and disappear from the human eyes.  I feel the wee strain of maintaining a corporeal body lift from my muscles. 

Now, the real hunt can begin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun~ I dunno how often I’ll update this thing. It will most likely depend on how often Nat can draw I suppose ;3


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

 

The modern world has gotten quite convenient.

 

Gone are the primitive villages consisting of wooden shacks replaced by sophisticated concrete buildings that stand tall enough to block out the view of the night skies.  The main transportation these days are carried by automobiles that run on fossil fuels and pedal-operated bikes.

Of course, as a Heroic Spirit given temporary corporeal form by the Holy Grail, I’ve no need for such things.  Nevertheless, it is interesting to marvel over the new inventions that humans have come up with in the past couple of millennia.

 

Perhaps my decision to remain visible to the human eye was not for the best.  My newly acquired clothing—white long-sleeved t-shirt, jeans and a red flannel—is still more than enough to garner the attention of the passers-by. 

During my lifetime, being the Child of Light was oft the reason for such speculation.  I guess as a Servant right now, I somehow appeared different to the humans whether or not they possessed magical knowledge.

I had set off on my recon mission without a specific goal in mind.  My connection to the Grail told me that the full set of Servants have not been summoned yet.   It was possible that my Master summoned me prematurely in order to devise a strategy against the other Servants or simply to have some sort of upper hand against the others.

Lost in my thoughts, I nigh ran into a woman clad in black garbs, not unlike in a fashion similar to mine an hour ago.  She gave me an appreciative once-over with her eyes before going on her way.  The beginning of a tribal tattoo on the back of her nape caught my attention.  I knew thanks to the information Grail put in my head regarding the modern world that some humans had the tribal filigree inked into their skin for fashion purposes.  However, the pattern that I recognised on the woman’s nape was an exact match for those inscribed to the highest ranking women warrior of my Ulster clan.

As if wary of my watchful eyes, she rounds a sharp corner away from me.  I brusquely walk down the busy street to catch up to her.  It is easy for me to find her once again even though she tried to conceal her face with a hood drawn tight around it.

‘What?’ she growls.  Her Japanese sounds different compared to the language I’ve been hearing.

‘Sorry, lass.  I just recognised the pattern of your tattoo and thought it was interesting.’

She raises a double-pierced eyebrow.  The fang necklace hung loosely around her neck is also something that would identify as belonging to my ancient tribe.

‘You an Irish mythology or summat?’ she asks in English, heavily coloured with the Irish lilt that I am familiar with.

I grin.  ‘Something like that, yeah.’

She shrugs.  ‘Me old dad prided himself on descending from some bloodline that is supposed to have ties with a famous hero from one of them legends.  I was a bit of a myth nerd growing up so I had no qualms about getting this drawn on me permanently once I was of age.’

‘Ah, okay,’ I say in response.  _Great one_ , I scold myself mentally. _Now she’ll peg me as a pervert who just wanted to give chase_.

‘What about yourself?  That pretty trinket around your neck doesn’t look like it came from the antiques shop.’

‘It didn’t.’  Damn!  The truth slipped out on its own accord.   ‘It’s a hand-me-down, I reckon.’

‘You reckon,’ she echoes coldly.  She takes out a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and lights it up.  After taking a long drag from it, she holds out the carton in my direction.  ‘Want one?’

‘Sure.’

We stand around on the corner of the street, breathing in the smoke and then out.  I wait for her to continue the conversation. 

Thankfully I do not have to wait for too long.

‘My gramps always rambled on and on about how he is of the same blood as the greatest hero of the Ulster Cycle.  Five bottles o’ Guinness and he would tell you what he considered the best war story there is to exist.  He fond of that guy, Ireland’s Child of Light. 

‘According to him, our family comes from a long line of warriors descended from the son born between Cú Chulainn and Aífe because apparently he had the chance to father a son before he was killed by his own father.  Ironic, eh?’

I grit my teeth.  Ironic indeed.

‘That’s interesting,’ I say in a voice that sounds robotic even to my own ears.

‘Anyway, he also said some horse shit about us being able to use magic.  Rune magic.’

That would make sense.  I had to learn the basic usage of runes since Scáthach refused to mentor meatheads who were illiterate in the art of magecraft.  I guess the legends don’t mention it since I preferred to fight with my blades and not with trickery of stones.

‘So does that mean you’re a wizard?’ I joke

She shrugs.  ‘Maybe.  I prefer coding and programming to chanting around a cauldron or whatever it is that mages do these days.’

I have an utmost urge to tell her that even the druids back in era did not dance around a cauldron chanting spells but I do not divulge that information with her.

‘Do you believe in magic?’ I ask.  If her words are true, she has the potential to be a candidate to be a Master in this Holy Grail War.

‘Meh.  Like I said, I’m a computer geek through and through.’

‘Cool.  I’ll be on my way then.  Have a good evening.’

As I’m about to walk away, she grabs my arm.

‘Do you have a phone number I can call you on?  It’s not often that I run into an Irishman in Tokyo.  Well, I’m a halfie but still.’

I smile apologetically.  ‘Sorry mate.  I’m just visiting for a short time.’

The disappointment on her face seems genuine.  ‘Oh, never mind then.  Have a pleasant visit.’

 

I’m not sure about ‘pleasant’ but I do know that my visit will be interesting and coloured with bloodshed.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please follow my [my tumblr](http://www.gilganyan-24.Tumblr.com) for occasional fic updates and general random fandom chaos 
> 
> ^♡^


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